


apropos of smoochy smoochy time

by TrisB



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-03
Updated: 2010-05-03
Packaged: 2017-10-09 19:56:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrisB/pseuds/TrisB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karen breezes around in floppy jumpers looking lighter than air, with big just-fucked hair and insolent kiss-hungry lips, and perhaps it's just that being the Doctor affords him a certain amount of old man wisdom, but Matt foresees a problem here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	apropos of smoochy smoochy time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pathstotread](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pathstotread/gifts).



> Happy birthday, Carrie.

Being the Doctor (The _Doctor_) (Doctor _Who_) is, to put it nicely, ridiculous. There's the list of actors Matt somehow beat out for the part, beginning at Paterson Joseph and stretching in his mind to cover everyone he's ever admired on the telly from Ian are you kidding McKellan to Lily oh god what if she's actually a lesbian Loveless. There's a press corps and a fan base all dying to detail every flaw of his (considerably flawed, he's been made quite aware) face, just for starters. There's the job itself, which promptly devours his entire life. And, heaven and possibly some saints if they do that sort of thing help him, there is Karen.

Karen breezes around in floppy jumpers looking lighter than air, with big just-fucked hair and insolent kiss-hungry lips, and perhaps it's just that being the Doctor affords him a certain amount of old man wisdom, but Matt foresees a problem here.

Amy Pond's skirts and Karen's legs. Make that four problems. Minimum.

Things change once they've got into the groove of filming, though; Karen is giggly and game and twitchier than a hyper kitten, a born entertainer, and in this way their endless hours seem a little shorter. He makes fun of her taste in music (mediocre) and television (horrendous) and watches her act and gets in the way of those nails more than once. They talk the ugly talk of Career. She's a person, not a problem, and she's the only one in the entire world with any idea whatsoever of what it's like to be him right now. Fantasy dies here: they need each other now for real friendship.

So when he does kiss her, in a long quiet press of un-smoochy-smoochily still lips, with a dim backlot and plywood all around, Matt doesn't feel the illicit thrill he'd feared and longed for all this time. Instead, he rather feels he's made a revolution in the art of conversation. Karen sighs and leans her head against his and doesn't pretend she's not tired. He lifts a hand and rests it on her shoulder; he strokes his thumb against her long neck; he could fall asleep like this.

"Matt," she says.

"Kaz," he says.

"I like you." His smile brushes her ear. His chest curls around hers a bit; his weight against hers exhales and becomes a little heavier.

"You too," he says, uncool, "a lot." He considers how much of a problem none of this actually is. He considers the early days, the first puerile and overwhelmed thoughts he'd worked to tamp down. Well, hell. Might as well see this thing through to the end. "The short skirts, you know, I think are interesting, because —"

"Matt," she says.

"Kaz," he says.

"Shut up," she suggests, so he does; and the conversation can keep going, following his arm as it tightens around her shoulder, stay alive in his hand when she takes it in hers, so it does. A lot.


End file.
